


Dyscopia

by distantattraction



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, sex as self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantattraction/pseuds/distantattraction
Summary: When Nikolai is hospitalized, Yuri copes the only way he can: badly. But he is loved, and the people who love him will take care of him even when he won't take care of himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I trying to put together a zine of otayuri fic, so if you're interested in supporting writers and getting a nicely bound print copy of a bunch of fic about dumb kids falling in love, please fill out [this survey!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeOkMExBir7LWk1vcDEMVC6N0vC0C-THl69fibdOGKDgScUlg/viewform) Signal boosting is also greatly appreciated; we have promotional posts on both [twitter](https://twitter.com/distantranslate/status/828355570864230400) and [tumblr](http://distanttranslation.tumblr.com/post/157382879612/hey-there-were-trying-to-put-together-an).
> 
> also I swear to god I know how to write things that aren't always sad

The worst thing, Yuri thinks, is that he missed the phone call. He wasn’t even doing anything important; he’d just let his phone die and hadn’t turned it back on while it was charging. Social media could wait while he played a game or three, he’d thought. He hadn’t expected a voicemail when he turned his phone back on. He hadn’t expected any of it.

He doesn’t get to the end of the voicemail before he hangs up. Swearing, Yuri redials his mailbox, realizing that there might be more information in it past “This is the GMS Clinic of Moscow calling for Yuri Plisetsky. Your grandfather, Nikolai, has suffered a heart attack…” Yuri stands in his room, deathly still, as the voice tells him his grandfather is in intensive care. The recorded hospital clerk is replaced by the automated voice of his voicemail telling him what his options are. Yuri puts a hand over his face, gripping his temples firmly enough to hurt.

He hangs up. His phone doesn’t have a button to press that will take him to Moscow.

He doesn’t take much with him. Yuri throws on outdoor clothes, shoves his wallet, phone, and charger into the pockets, and walks out. Light and fast, that’s how he has to be.

Yakov and Lilia are in the sitting room when he walks past, his head down, trying to focus. “Yuri?” Yakov asks. “Where are you going?”

“GMS Moscow.” Yuri’s voice is soulless. “Grandpa’s there.”

“What?!” Yakov yells, scrambling to get out of his chair. Lilia rises much more fluidly, walking quickly in an attempt to catch up with Yuri. “Nikolai— Yuri, wai—”

Lilia cuts Yakov off. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Yuri doesn’t pause or turn around. “Take care of my cat.” He’s already got the door open when Lilia calls his name, and while Yuri won’t stop for Yakov, he will for Lilia.

“Be safe,” she says, pressing her lips to his cheek.

Yuri nods, closes the door, and is gone.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Lilia covers her mouth, tears falling from her eyes. Yakov hesitantly puts his arms around her, and she allows him to embrace her. For days, Lilia cannot stop thinking of the look on Yuri’s face when he left.

 

Yuri barely registers how he gets to Moscow. He knows he isn’t polite about it. He walks up to the desk and opens with “I need to get to Moscow now, so either tell me there’s a plane with a seat leaving soon or tell me if I have to go catch a fucking train.” The man looks deeply affronted, but he still sells Yuri his ticket, and that is all that matters.

He stares forward blankly for the entire flight. Yuri’s only options are to think about his grandfather or think nothing at all, and his body chooses the latter for him.

The hospital staff are more accepting of his bad attitude than the airport. The woman at the desk tells him very kindly that he cannot go into the room where his grandfather is being treated, but there is a waiting room and a window. She gets one sentence into directing him to the ICU before Yuri takes off.

 

Victor’s phone is in another room when he hears the ringtone, so by the time he gets the thing in his hands, he’s already missed the call. He waits, expecting the voicemail notification to pop up in a minute or so, but to his surprise, Yakov calls a second time.

“Yakov?” Victor asks. “You didn’t just leave a message?”

“There’s no time for messages, Vitya. Yuri is on his way to Moscow, and I need you to follow him.”

“Moscow? Why is he—“

“Nikolai is in the hospital.”

The silence following this statement is heavy. Victor closes his eyes. They all know what Nikolai means to Yuri. “I’ll be there.” He ends the call; he knows Yakov doesn’t need parting words more than he needs agreement. “Yuuri!” Victor calls. “Dress warm—we’re heading to Moscow. Now.”

“What?” Yuuri pops his head around the corner. “Victor, I know you like to be spontaneous, but we can’t just drop everything on a whi—”

“Yurio needs us.”

Yuuri blinks once and turns around. “I’ll get dressed.”

Victor calls a taxi while Yuuri frantically checks the flight schedules out of St. Petersburg. “Shit, Victor, even if we left now we’ll have missed the last plane with empty seats for hours. Can we take the train?”

“It’ll be slower, but if we don’t have any other options, then we’ll do it.”

“Shit, shit, _shit_.” Yuuri runs to the door. Running won’t make their taxi come faster or open up a flight or speed up the train, but he still feels the need to do everything he can.

Once they grab seats on the train, Yuuri is back on the phone. He tries Yuri, but the call goes straight to voicemail. He swears loudly, and Victor takes his hand, squeezing it gently. Yuuri takes a few calming breaths, and then he looks through his contact list again.

“Who are you calling now?” Victor asks, leaning over to look at the screen.

“Otabek. Either Yurio got on a train just before us, or he managed to get onto a plane, in which case he’s going to be at the hospital alone for two hours before we can get to him. We can keep trying to call him, but you know neither of us are any good at comforting people.”

“I thought I did okay the last ti—” Yuuri shuts Victor down with a single scathing look. “Alright. So, you’re going to have Otabek call Yurio?”

“Oh, maybe. If he’s got time before his plane leaves.” Victor makes a little noise of surprise, and Yuuri looks at him with even more damning judgment in his eyes. “You didn’t think Otabek would do anything other than get to Moscow the fastest way possible, did you?”

Victor averts his eyes. “No, of course not.”

Yuuri sighs. He doesn’t try calling Yuri again immediately, but he keeps the number on the screen.

 

Otabek doesn’t get many calls or messages, but he keeps his phone close anyway. As such, it’s only on the second ring when he picks up. “Hello, ah… Katsuki-san.” He tries, but Japanese is not Otabek’s forte. Not that it matters. Both he and Yuuri spent enough time stateside to pick up a fair amount of English.

“Otabek. We need you in Moscow as soon as possible.”

Otabek frowns. It’s not like he thinks Yuuri is incapable of being serious, but this level of somberness and urgency as a greeting is unexpected. “What happened?”

“Yurio’s grandfather. We don’t know what happened, but he’s at GMS Clinic and Yuri’s on his way there. He’s going to need you, Otabek.”

“I’ll leave now.”

He can’t think. There isn’t anyone in the world Yuri cares about more than his grandfather. Otabek can’t even imagine what must be going through his head right now. He throws things into a bag. He knows he can’t be packing properly, but he’s too panicked to care. He makes it all the way to the first street corner before pausing to check every pocket on him. Otabek swears and sprints back to the house, this time leaving with his passport in hand.

Last minute tickets for a direct flight to Moscow aren’t cheap, but Otabek doesn’t even hesitate. There are much more important things on the line than money.

 

“Excuse me!” Victor says as he and Yuuri jog up to the hospital’s front desk. “We need to know where Nikolai Plisetsky is, please.”

“Plisetsky, Plisetsky…” The clerk pages through a ledger, but a woman behind the counter leans over him to speak.

“He’s in the ICU. Down the hall to your left.”

“Thank you.” Victor takes a step forward, and Yuuri nudges him. “Ah—the grandson. How long has he been here?”

“About two hours.”

There aren’t strong enough expletives in Japanese, so Yuuri says “Fuck” in English. “Let’s go, Victor.” They take off in a full sprint, but as they approach the ICU, they slow down. It’s not that it’s quiet; a hospital is never quiet. But the steady beeping from heart monitors can be heard from down the hall, and it’s sobering.

Yuri stands outside a window looking into the unit. Victor and Yuuri come up alongside him. “Yuri,” Victor says, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder. Yuri doesn’t respond. He keeps staring through the window, so Yuuri’s gaze follows his. Yuuri has only met Nikolai once since Victor became his coach two years ago, but he’s seen photos of him with Yuri. It doesn’t take him too long to spot Nikolai in the line of beds.

Yuuri doesn’t know if the gods have been cruel or kind, putting him in a bed halfway down the row. The view from this window is partially obscured. “Do you… want to sit down, Yurio?” he asks, turning to look at Yuri. “There are benches. They’re padded—you could even nap.”

“I sat on the plane.” Yuri doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink?” Victor asks. It’s past dinner time.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Still, you’re probably dehydrated. We should get you some water.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Yurio—”

“I don’t want it, okay?” He doesn’t shout—even Yuri Plisetsky isn’t rude enough to shout in a hospital—but there’s a sharpness to his voice. Like he’s on the edge of a cliff and he wants to be the only one to go over.

 

Nearly two hours later, Victor and Yuuri sit side by side on a bench, Victor with his head in his hands and Yuuri with an arm around his shoulders. They both look up at the sound of footsteps. “Otabek, thank god,” Victor says in Russian. Yuuri thinks he catches a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he looks over, Yuri is still standing stock-still in front of the window.

Victor’s words spill forth in a panicked flood that Yuuri can’t follow with his elementary Russian. “He’s been standing there since we got here—since _he_ got here, I think. He hasn’t had anything to eat since he got the news, and he won’t even drink. He gets mad at us when we try and push water on him. Yuuri and I are no good at comforting anyone, least of all Yurio. We need you, Otabek. _He_ needs you.”

Otabek nods, taking the proffered water bottle and walking over to the ICU window. “Yura,” he says. He leaves it at that. He makes sure to stand with his shoulder against Yuri’s so he knows that Otabek is _there_ , that he won’t leave, and then he waits. The silence stretches for many long minutes before Yuri says anything.

“I missed the call, Beka.” Yuri’s voice is nothing more than a whisper. “I know I couldn’t have done anything, really, not about a heart attack and definitely not from St. Petersburg, but I missed the call. I should have been here earlier. I should have been with him.”

“You did everything you could. You got here as soon as possible. You beat every one of us to Moscow.”

“But I wasn’t there.” For the first time, Yuri’s eyes move from Nikolai’s hospital bed. It’s just a quick glance at Otabek, nothing more, but it is something. His eyes are bloodshot, but not puffy. Yuri hasn’t been crying. “He’s my grandfather, Beka. If he doesn’t get better, I’m not going to know what to do.” He leans into Otabek, just a little. Otabek takes that as permission to put his arm around Yuri’s shoulder.

“Your grandfather will be okay, Yura.”

Yuri shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Are you kidding? Being a fighter runs in the family. He’ll be fine. And so will you.”

Yuri lays his head against Otabek’s. Otabek pats his head.

The four of them spend the next sixteen hours in that hallway. Nurses come every once in a while to check on Nikolai and give Yuri and the others what would have been a status update if there were any changes, and then they are gone again. Otabek manages to get Yuri to drink the water, but he fails to convince him to sit down or to eat. Victor gets food for all four of them just in case, but Yuri’s share stays untouched.

Otabek is a strong young man, but even he cannot stand still forever. He, Victor, and Yuuri take turns acting as Yuri’s support while the other two rest. Dawn finds Otabek standing with his arm around Yuri’s waist while Victor and Yuuri sleep on a bench. Victor uses Yuuri’s lap as a pillow, and Yuuri has his fingers woven through Victor’s hair.

“Yura? When did you get up yesterday?”

“Hm?” Yuri’s eyes are unfocused, but still aimed at his grandfather. “I don’t know, nine?”

This brings Yuri to about twenty-one straight waking hours. Otabek makes a note to tell Victor and Yuuri when they wake up. “You sure you don’t want to eat anything?”

“Yeah.”

 

Youth and determination will get a person far. Yuri makes it to twenty-eight hours awake, twenty of them in this hospital. Less than an hour after noon, he collapses. Otabek catches him before he can hit the ground, but the fall startles Yuri awake. “Sorry,” he mutters, trying to get back up. “Tired. Grandpa…”

“I’m taking you home.”

“No,” Yuri says, shaking his head weakly. “Wanna stay…”

“Yura.” Otabek’s voice is firm. “I’m taking you home.”

“Beka…” Yuri whines, but when Otabek picks him up, Yuri falls asleep in his arms.

“Make sure the staff has all of our phone numbers,” Otabek tells Victor. “Ah, and text me Yura’s Moscow address? It’ll be on Nikolai’s paperwork.”

Victor nods, and Otabek heads out to the front desk to request a taxi. No one comments on the sleeping boy Otabek carries. He guesses that the group staying in the ICU hallway came up in the staff gossip. Otabek doesn’t put Yuri down until the taxi arrives. He buckles Yuri into his seat, and then he checks his phone for the address.

His phone is dead. “Shit,” he says. He shakes Yuri gently, trying to get him just awake enough to answer a question. “Yura, where does your grandfather live?” He gets only grumbling as his response. “The address, Yura.” Otabek sighs. He turns to head back into the hospital to ask the staff, but he hears Yuri form actual words behind him.

“It’s on my ID,” he mutters. “Moron.” His right hand pats at… something. He’s aiming for one of his pockets, but Otabek can’t tell if he means his jacket or his jeans. He tries the jacket first and successfully pulls Yuri’s wallet out. He reads the address off to the driver, and then they go. When Otabek puts the wallet back in Yuri’s pocket, the backs of his fingers brush keys. He grabs those, deciding that he’ll figure out which one opens the door of the house when they arrive.

Otabek asks the driver to wait outside while he tries the keys, offering to let him keep the meter running. The driver takes pity on these two exhausted boys and turns off the meter while Otabek is gone.

Yuri is still sleeping when Otabek pulls him out of the cab, so he is left to figure out which room is Yuri’s on his own. It’s not a difficult task; the house is small, and Yuri’s is the bedroom covered in lion and tiger posters. There is also one amusingly large poster of a domestic cat in prized place over the headboard. Its edges are ragged, and one of the corners is missing. Otabek suspects it’s been here longer than anything else on the walls.

He sets Yuri down on the bed carefully before heading to the kitchen in search of something light that Yuri can eat without feeling sick. The very first cabinet Otabek opens is full of small pastries, both sweet and savory, as well as some preserved meats. He blinks and opens the rest, just to make sure the house isn’t something out of a fairytale where the cabinets give him whatever he desires. To his relief (and, if he’s being honest, disappointment), he finds nothing but ordinary kitchen supplies. The pantry is very thoroughly stocked for an aging man who lives alone most of the year. “Nice work, Nikolai,” Otabek says under his breath.

He puts a couple of savory pastries on a plate and grabs a cup. There’s orange juice in the fridge, but Otabek fills it with water instead. He doesn’t actually know when Yuri will wake up, after all.

This turns out to be a good decision. Otabek manages to take one single step into the room before a pair of hands grabs the front of his shirt. The cup and dish slip from Otabek’s grasp as Yuri whirls him around to pin him against the wall, slamming their mouths together in a messy kiss. Otabek grimaces. Their teeth clack together, but Yuri doesn’t seem to notice. He nips at Otabek’s lower lip. Yuri kisses him long enough to steal away all of Otabek's breath. He’s lightheaded when Yuri starts taking dangerous, blind steps backward until his calves hit the mattress. He falls heavily, taking Otabek down with him.

"Beka," Yuri says, and a spark runs through Otabek's body because he knows that tone, remembers the things they have done to make Yuri sound that way. "Do whatever you want."

Otabek blinks. Yuri’s voice is hoarse from disuse, but there's something wrong beyond that, something broken in the way Yuri speaks. He can hear the words that come through between the cracks: _hurt me._

“Yuri, I don’t think sex is a good idea right now.”

Yuri’s expression hardens. “You sure about that? Bet I know how to change your mind.” For someone who got so little sleep, Yuri moves very quickly. In a flash, he’s on his knees on the carpet between Otabek’s legs.

“Yura, wait—” but Yuri’s fingers are agile, and he has practice at this. It undoes both the button and zipper of Otabek’s pants in one movement, quickly reaching under the waistband of Otabek’s boxer-briefs to tug his cock free. Otabek puts a hand on the top of his head, trying to push him back, but Yuri is more insistent than he expects. “Yuri,” Otabek says. Yuri’s only answer is to run his tongue over Otabek’s cock, letting himself drool on it until it’s slick enough to handle properly. Yuri strokes it a few times before dropping his hand, running the pads of his fingers over Otabek’s balls. He takes the shaft into his mouth, then throat; it’s easier to manage when it’s soft.

Otabek leans over him, panting. He knows they can’t do this, because it is a very, very bad idea and Yuri is clearly not in his right mind, but he _is_ swallowing around Otabek’s cock, and Otabek is not proud to admit he’s getting hard. Both of his hands are in Yuri’s hair now, his grip overly tight as he tries to pull him off, but Yuri is far from discouraged by it. He moves his mouth over Otabek’s cock, tongue flat and wide against the skin. He tongues at the tip, running a knuckle back and forth along the seam between Otabek’s balls. It’s the little scrape of teeth that truly does Otabek in. Yuri grins around his cock, some Cheshire monstrosity.

“Told you.”

Yuri drags his fingertips along the underside of Otabek’s cock as he rises from his knees, making sure to catch the frenulum on his way up so that Otabek shudders beneath him. Yuri strips in a few fluid motions, flipping his hair as he throws his clothing aside. Otabek _knows_ the way he’s standing is deliberate. It’s too subtle to be called posing, but he is absolutely statuesque. Yuri stands with his shoulders straight and his back arched. He sets a hand on his hip, the movement drawing Otabek’s eyes to Yuri’s own cock, fairly stiff for having only been on the giving end of a blowjob.

“Well?” he says, cocking an eyebrow, and Otabek knows he has lost.

“We don’t even have a condom,” he says in one last, pathetic attempt to stop this.

“So?” Yuri replies, all arrogance and command. “Take off your clothes, Otabek.”

Otabek sighs and obeys. He sees Yuri start to take a step forward as he pulls his shirt over his head, so he expects to see Yuri leaning over him when the fabric is out of the way, but Yuri has planned something infinitely worse. Yuri places one calf against the bed, bracing himself enough that he can lift the other leg up above his head. He slides two fingers between his lips before lowering his hand, pushing both fingers into himself at once. He moans as he touches himself, which is so atrociously unfair that Otabek suspects this feat is the work of the Devil himself.

The form of the split is weak by Yuri’s standards. It’s too difficult a position to maintain while fingering himself, but still it has Otabek aching to be inside him. Yuri slowly opens his eyes. “You’re slow,” he says, struggling for enough breath to form the words. His fingers stroke and stretch his entrance, making his voice rise in pitch on unexpected syllables. “You’re still… wearing… your pants.”

Said pants are gone as soon as Otabek can tug them over his feet. Yuri straddles him, sinking down onto Otabek’s cock. He doesn’t stop until he gets to the base, and when he does, he lets out a breath that’s more pain than anything else. Otabek is thick, and he doesn’t think Yuri got past two fingers when he was putting on the show earlier. He’s pushing himself.

Otabek flips them over, stealing control away from Yuri. He spits on his own hand, trying to get some more wetness onto his cock before pushing slowly into Yuri. It has to hurt. It _has_ to, despite Yuri moaning like it doesn’t. Just because they sound real doesn’t mean Otabek can’t tell that they’re fake. He aims for Yuri’s prostate, hoping the pleasure will be enough to distract Yuri from the pain of adjustment. Otabek eases his way into a rhythm he doesn’t feel like a monster about putting Yuri through.

Yuri grips at the sheets beside his head, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, and skin slick with sweat. Otabek doesn’t believe the moans until they become more breathy, punctuated by gasps for air. When he opens his eyes, they are hazy with lust. He puts a hand on Otabek’s chest. Otabek can feel heat radiating off of both of them.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Yuri asks, smirking.

Otabek bites his lip. He cannot give in to that provocation, not without proper preparation and lubrication. He only speeds up a little, but he does push the full length of his cock into Yuri with every thrust.

Yuri digs his nails into Otabek’s shoulder. “Harder, Beka.”

“No.”

“ _Harder._ ”

“No,” Otabek says, more firmly this time. He closes his eyes, focusing on the steady pressure of Yuri’s nails in his skin and his muscles around Otabek’s cock. He thinks, for a full minute, that Yuri has given up on trying to use Otabek to ruin himself. Then he speaks again.

“Beka, _please._ ” Yuri’s voice cracks. He’s holding back tears so desperately Otabek thinks he might choke on them. Yuri is not a desperate person, so it’s terrifying to see him begging for a different reason to cry.

“I’m not going to hurt you when you’re already in pain, Yura.”

Yuri freezes for a moment, and then his tears well up. He grabs Otabek, hiding his face just before they spill over. “You ass,” Yuri whispers into his neck.

It is only now, with Yuri’s tears rolling down his back, that Otabek feels comfortable accepting Yuri’s first order: to do what he wants. He lays Yuri down, again, carefully pushing aside the hands Yuri uses to try to cover his face. Otabek presses gentle kisses to the corners of Yuri’s eyes, his throat, his forehead, his cheek, his browbone; Yuri keeps trying weakly to push him away, and Otabek simply changes direction each time.

“Come on, Beka, it tickles,” Yuri says, and the small chuckle that accompanies the words make Otabek finally put his mouth to Yuri’s, kissing him as well as he knows how. Yuri kisses him back, and it finally feels normal.

Otabek is mindful of the lack of lube, but he doesn’t think either he or Yuri can stop now. He can feel the heat of Yuri’s cock between their stomachs, slick with sweat and precum, and Otabek knows he’s close to coming, too. Even if he wanted to ask to stop, he can’t. Yuri won’t stop kissing him long enough for even a single word. He wraps his legs around Otabek’s waist, pulling him in closer.

The rhythm becomes erratic. Every time Otabek hits his prostate, Yuri gasps and clenches down, and it’s hard for Otabek to focus on anything for how warm and tight Yuri is around him.

It reaches the point where Otabek has to pull his face away so he can speak. “Yura,” he says. His voice is husky, and hearing it makes Yuri even tighter. Otabek bites his lip to calm down enough to actually say what he needs to. “Yura, I’m gonna come.”

“Me too,” Yuri says, high-pitched and breathless. Everything he does is testing Otabek’s self-control.

“Your legs, Yura, you have to— I don’t want to—”

“Come inside.”

“What?!”

“Come inside,” Yuri says again. Otabek panics for an instant. They’ve never done that before; they’ve never even done it raw before, let alone having one of them come inside the other. But Yuri’s eyes are clear, for once, and this, Otabek thinks, is a decision he is making on his own, without his thoughts being clouded by grief.

They come together. Otabek still feels bad about coming inside of him, but given the arch of Yuri’s back, the force with which he comes, and the almost ethereal noise he makes when he does, Otabek supposes it wasn’t a bad thing after all. He runs his finger up through the trail of come on Yuri’s chest, ostensibly to wipe it away, but really just to touch his skin. Yuri lies back against the sheets, his legs finally loosening their grip on Otabek’s back.

It’s hard to pull himself away from Yuri at the best of times, let alone now, but Otabek can start to feel his sweat cooling, and being cold after sex is one of the things Yuri hates the most. So Otabek leaves to find washcloths he can dip into warm water and a proper towel he can dry them both off with. It takes him a few minutes of looking through more unfamiliar cupboards, but he returns with what he needed. When he gets back, Yuri has… not quite folded their clothes, but at least put them into a single pile that isn’t on the floor. The boy himself sits cross-legged on the bed, his chin in one hand, Otabek’s phone in the other.

“Your phone is super dead, you know. That’s not good. What if there was an emergency and you weren’t there to answer the call?”

“You know that wasn’t your fault, Yura.”

“I do. But that doesn’t stop it from feeling like it’s my fault.” Yuri sighs and tosses the phone onto his nightstand. “Though you should really charge it. Can’t live in this day and age without a phone.” He pauses. “Well, _you_ might be able to, but no normal person can.”

“I’ll charge it later,” Otabek replies. “Clean-up first. Lean forward so I can get your back?”

Yuri does so, diligently changing positions so Otabek can wipe the sweat and come off of his chest. Otabek is careful, but thorough, so he gently wipes Yuri’s dick clean, too. Then he swears under his breath. Yuri’s already starting to leak. Otabek gives Yuri a quick pat down with the dry towel before spreading it out so Yuri can sit on it. “You probably shouldn’t get dressed for a while,” Otabek says, wiping his own chest down with the second washcloth.

“Probably. Creampie’s pretty hot, though.” Otabek chokes on nothing and looks at Yuri with distress etched into every part of his face. Yuri knows him well enough to know that he’s doing this on purpose, so he says “I’m not taking it back, Beka. It’s fucking true. Now plug in your damn phone.”

Otabek fishes his boxers out of the pile of clothes and throws hem on before turning to his bag. It’s only when Yuri can’t see his face anymore that Otabek allows himself a small smile. Yuri’s finally acting like himself again. His voice is still hoarse from crying, but his spirit is back.

The smile fades as Otabek looks through the contents of his bag not once or even twice. After the fourth time checking every pocket, he sighs and is forced to accept the truth. “I left my phone charger in Kazakhstan,” he says.

Yuri laughs out loud. “The hell did you bring with you, then?”

Otabek pulls out a zip-up hoodie. It’s his, but it’s the one Yuri most enjoys stealing when he comes to visit him in Almaty. “Ooh, I love that one!” Yuri says. “Gimme, gimme. I’m getting chilly.” Yuri chooses to throw it, unzipped, over his shoulders instead of putting it on properly. Otabek flashes his passport at Yuri before replacing it in the bag. He very specifically does not mention the fact that he forgotten it when he first tried to leave the house. The last item Otabek tosses to Yuri, who catches it in surprise.

It’s a Ted bear. One of the two from the year he and Yuri started dating. Yuri looks at it for a few long moments. Otabek watches him carefully, trying to figure out what this silence means. He can see Yuri’s fingers digging into the bear, can see the fabric of the costume crinkling around them. Yuri waits before he speaks, and then Otabek understands the pause.

“You forgot your phone charger, but you remembered to bring me a bear?”

His voice shakes. He’s not on the verge of tears, but he didn’t manage to stem them as well as he wanted to.

Otabek shrugs. “I thought it might help.”

Yuri looks up, eyes a little wet but fierce all the same. He stretches his arms out. “Come here, nerd.” Otabek is there in an instant. Yuri holds him tightly, breathing in the smell of them (of _them,_ not just him, because right now they smell like nothing but sex and each other). “The bear’s not bad,” Yuri whispers, “but the real thing is a lot better.”

Otabek honestly wouldn’t mind doing nothing but enjoying the grip of Yuri’s arms around his back and the warmth of their bare chests against each other, but time never stops long enough for lovers to enjoy what they want. Yuri pulls back, blinking heavily. The effects of the hours without sleep have probably just slammed into him all at once.

“I know it’s the middle of the afternoon, but we should sleep.”

“Definitely,” Otabek agrees. “Do you have a guest room here?”

Yuri looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot he’s ever seen. “Are you kidding me? When you’re the guest, _this_ is the guest room. You’re sleeping with me, dummy.”

There’s no reason to protest, so Otabek shares Yuri’s bed the entire week that Nikolai is in the hospital. It is a largely uneventful stay with the single exception of the first evening at the house. Otabek wakes from his nap with some reluctance, but the room is dark enough when he opens his eyes that he realizes the sun must have set already. Fixing his sleep schedule is going to take some work.

“Sorry,” he hears Yuri say next to him. Otabek rolls over to find Yuri sitting on the edge of his bed, phone in hand. “It was my fault. But he’s alright, I promise, and he’ll be home soon. Yeah. I’ll make him call you once I buy him a new phone charger.” A pause. “Thank you. I hope so too.”

Yuri hangs up, and Otabek asks, “Was that… my mother?” He’s very confused, but only a little surprised.

“Yep.” Yuri tosses the phone onto the nightstand before throwing himself onto Otabek, resting his head and arms on Otabek’s stomach. “You forgot to tell her you were leaving.”

Otabek swears. “She wasn’t home when I left, and then I was on the plane--it doesn’t matter. How many times did she try to call me?”

“Beka, I am saying this for your own benefit: you truly do not want to know.” Otabek winces. “She thought that maybe it was important, so she called me to see if I knew. Turns out I was the whole damn problem, though.”

“You’re not a problem, and it was important.”

Yuri turns to look at Otabek. His bangs slip forward, covering his eye. “He’s not _your_ grandfather, Beka. You didn’t have to come all the way out to Moscow for him.”

“I came for both of you,” Otabek says, brushing Yuri’s hair out of his face. “He’s your family. We know what he means to you.” Otabek’s hand settles in Yuri’s hair, gently stroking his scalp. “Yuri closes his eyes. They lay like that for a minute, letting the calm wash over them. Then Otabek asks, “How did you hear the phone ring, anyway? You were up for more than a day. You should have been dead asleep.”

“I’m still tired, but I’m also fucking starving. I heard the phone ring while I was getting stuff from the kitchen. On that note, pass the pastries. It’s breakfast time.”

Their only priority after eating is to get Otabek’s phone charged so he can have a very apologetic conversation with his mother. “I understand that you love him, Beka,” she says, “but you can’t go leaving the country without a note. Even for Yuri.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, dear. But I’m proud of you for going. He needed you.” This embarrasses Otabek enough that he cannot think of a response other than to nod, which his mother cannot possibly have seen, but which she seems to have understood anyway. “Let me know when you’re coming back home.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you too, Beka. I hope Nikolai recovers quickly.”

The week goes on. Nikolai is transferred from the ICU to a regular room, which Yuri and Otabek visit each day. Nikolai wakes up long enough to entertain visitors once or twice a day. Otabek stands close to Yuri as he holds his grandfather’s hand and talks. He tells Nikolai how everyone came to make sure they were both okay, that he and Otabek are staying at the house, that Nikolai’s baking is as good as ever and has frankly ruined certain foods for Otabek. They run into Victor and Yuuri twice before the pair head back to St. Petersburg. “Makkachin is waiting for us,” Victor says, “and I’m sure Yakov’s got his lecture prepared.” They don’t say that they waited for Nikolai’s condition to stabilize before they left the city, but they don’t have to.

Nikolai is discharged with no further complications. Yuri and Otabek bring him home in the early evening, and the three of them have a light dinner together before Nikolai goes to bed. The following morning, Yuri rises before Otabek, which is unusual. It makes more sense when he hears Yuri shouting in the kitchen.

“What the hell, Grandpa? Go back to bed! How much are you baking?”

Otabek pulls himself out of bed, yawning, and heads over the kitchen. The sight of it shocks him awake, but it _looks_ like a dream. Every surface is covered in a light dusting of flour. There are trays and trays of fresh pastries lined up on the counters, and Nikolai is rolling out dough for more.

“Nonsense, Yuratchka. I’ve been sleeping long enough. Now it is time to feed you growing boys.”

“You _just_ got out of the hospital. Go lie down!”

“If I do that, I’ll never get to the pirozhki. Are you sure you want to give those up?”

“Grandpa, you are not going to be able to bribe me out of this with food. Go back to bed!” Yuri pushes his grandfather in the direction of the door, but he doesn’t use enough force to actually move him. Nikolai laughs, and Otabek finds himself joining in. Yuri whirls around. “Beka! Tell Grandpa to sleep, since he won’t listen to me.”

“As long as he takes plenty of breaks while he’s working, I don’t see why he can’t do some baking. He was discharged, after all.”

Yuri frowns. “Traitor. You just want to eat.”

Otabek laughs again. “What can I say, Yura? The man is a culinary genius.”

“I like him,” Nikolai says. “You should listen to him.”

Yuri throws his hands into the air. “Fine! Do whatever you want, but don’t blame me if this time you fuck up your back or something.” He walks towards the door but makes a quick detour to snatch a tray on his way out. “And I’m taking these!” Otabek poorly stifles a laugh, and Nikolai glances over at him as he starts rolling out dough for the next pastry.

“So, Otabek. You’ve been taking care of Yuratchka?”

“Yes, sir,” Otabek says. “He’s very important to me.”

“And to me.” Nikolai rolls the dough out evenly and expertly. He picks up a cutter and starts pulling circles out of the dough, stacking them neatly to the side as he goes. “He’s a good kid. Very rough around the edges, and unwilling to admit that he does care about other people, but good.”

Otabek nods. Nikolai gathers up the extra dough to roll out once more. As he kneads the edges back into a single ball, he gives Otabek a knowing look.

“He’s got good taste, too.”

Otabek is taken aback. He’s fairly sure that Yuri hasn’t told Nikolai about them yet, but Otabek recognizes the tone of a parent appraising their child’s significant other. Otabek can’t say he’s surprised, though. After all, Nikolai is one of the few people in the world who know more about Yuri than Otabek does.

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” They stand in silence for a moment before Nikolai speaks again. “So, Otabek. What is your favorite food?”

 

Otabek flies back home a day before Yuri does. Packing is easy. The bear and hoodie go back into the bag, joined by the phone charger and changes of clothes Otabek bought in Moscow. He’s got the bag on his shoulder and is standing in the doorway when Nikolai’s eyes light up. “Otabek!” he says. “I can’t let you leave without embarrassing Yuratchka first.”

“What?” Yuri says. “No way! I didn’t agree to this.”

“Ah, Yuratchka. You don’t have a choice in the matter.” Nikolai grins at his grandson before turning to Otabek and stage whispering. “Did you know that Yuratchka used to be afraid of Grandfather Frost?”

Yuri makes a strangled noise.

“I did not.” Otabek has a fantastic poker face, but the laughter comes through his voice.

“I have photos from a holiday event. He cried and cried.”

“Oh my god, Grandpa. I’m going home. I’m gonna leave.”

“Great! Then you won’t be around to stop me from showing Otabek the rest of your baby pictures.”

“GRANDPA, DON’T!”

Otabek and Nikolai’s laughter fills the house.

**Author's Note:**

> SEE THERE WAS A HAPPY ENDING
> 
> Again, please fill out the [otayuri](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeOkMExBir7LWk1vcDEMVC6N0vC0C-THl69fibdOGKDgScUlg/viewform) zine survey! I would really appreciate it :)


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